


you're just a green light turning red (at least, that's what i'll tell myself)

by transperalta



Series: moreid ramblings [4]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aaron Hotchner Acting as Spencer Reid's Parental Figure, Angst, Autistic Jason Gideon, Autistic Spencer Reid, Father Figure Jason Gideon, Grieving, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Gone Wrong, Sad Ending, Sad Spencer Reid, Soulmates, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, THIS IS REALLY SAD IM SO SORRY, Unrequited Love, but not actually, implied not stated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transperalta/pseuds/transperalta
Summary: spencer knows that every time derek goes out into the field, there's a chance he won't return. it's a very slim chance, even slimmer if he considers how derek is more skilled than the average fbi agent, but still a chance.the universe is a cruel dictator.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, well it's implied - Relationship
Series: moreid ramblings [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069088
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39





	you're just a green light turning red (at least, that's what i'll tell myself)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is quite possibly the saddest thing i've ever written. so.
> 
> as always, this was finished at 4am, and i refuse to beta anything i write because that's only for the weak. the best writing is completely incoherent, anyway.
> 
> have fun!

he's a flash of green on the big screen of the cia. he's a moving light, a part of a mission. he's everywhere but where reid wants him to be; with him, in his arms, away from the danger.

instead, he watches in slow motion as the man he loves moves in, partnered with an agent who they aren't even sure is reliable. of course reid trusts gideon's judgement, but this is the cia. lying is what they do best. this is what they're trained for.

the agents around him are silent, all watching the screen intently as the two green dots travel toward a cargo box. inside, four more green masses. one unsub. with a gun.

reid can hardly raise his voice above a whisper, the lump in his throat too painful and present. only on his third attempt can he muster up the volume to call out, reluctantly instructing the two agents to turn right.

and then the unsub is there. in the box, straight ahead of them. and derek can't bring himself to wait for backup, because he is too genuinely good. in his heart. his instincts tell him to move in because if he doesn't, three innocent people will die. and maybe he won't make it out, but that's okay with him. in his eyes, he's far from innocent anyway.

spencer squeezes his eyes shut, sure that something is about to go wrong. sure that the love of his life is about to leave him, but at least he'd be prepared. at least he would die a hero, saving people. just as he'd joined for.

he knows that every time derek goes out into the field, there's a chance he won't return. it's a very slim chance, even slimmer if he considers how derek is more skilled than the average fbi agent, but still a chance. still sat there, in the back of his mind, occasionally pushing itself to the front. most days, spencer could fight back, but not today. he's too tired. he just wants to see derek morgan, now, in front of him. alive.

he opens his eyes again when no shot rings out over the radio. no big bang to tell him it's all over. gideon's eyes are trained on the screen, his position stiff as he observes. spencer can't bring himself to watch what's happening, focusing on anything else. how one of the lights in the right-hand corner is a different colour from the rest, imagining what had happened to the last one for it to be replaced. how one agent's fingers tap against their desk, the monotonous sound breaking the tense silence.

his eyes wander to gideon again. they always do, when he isn't quite sure what's going on. how to feel. this time, the older man meets his gaze, and seems to want to send spencer a comforting smile. he can't find it within himself to do so. it hurts.

spencer looks at the screen once more. he tries to imagine the green spots as just that - lights on a video. they don't represent people. people, who could lose their lives, and never return to those who love them. even if they aren't fully aware that they are loved.

no one else looks worried. well, as worried as he is. gideon doesn't show it, but spencer's been around for too long. he's studied his newly-found father figure every second they've spent together.

the way he's refraining from balling his hands into fists and hitting his thighs, instead opting to rub the skin raw on one of his thumbs. or how he's holding himself back from slamming the bases of his palms together repeatedly, settling for the more socially-acceptable option of pressing his hands into each other firmly.

spencer notices, even if no one else does.

he hears a gasp from the other side of the room, although his gaze never leaves gideon. that is, until someone else clasps their hands together, and another murmurs a small "no..." behind him. and before he can even comprehend what's happening, the radio clicks back on.

spencer doesn't understand why hotch has stepped over to him, a hand planted on his shoulder. hotch never shows affection, even when he wants to, and especially not in front of people he doesn't trust. hotch only ever shows affection when something goes terribly wrong, which is why spencer doesn't get why he's showing it now. why his thumb is rubbing grounding circles into his sweater-clad skin, or why gideon's stare is boring a hole through to his brain, scanning over spencer's features in a (no-doubt successful) attempt to read the younger agent.

there it is.

the gunshot.

five green dots move on the screen.

one is stationary.

spencer's hand reaches for the radio on its own. his fingers press down on the rectangular button on the side, the light turns green as his digits grip the plastic casing. his mouth opens, and his voice escapes, and his ears pick up the sound he's emitting. his brain registers the panicked tone, and his stomach twists at the significant shift in emotion. 

spencer has checked out. for a split second, he isn't there. his body is going through the motions. spencer later thinks he wishes it stayed that way. 

but it doesn't. and he's back, and everything hits him head-on, like when you step out into a windy day and a gust takes you off guard and suddenly you can't breathe, and you've forgotten how to breathe, and your lungs and your throat and your chest hurt, and-

spencer can't breathe. 

he wishes he was better at masking. all these years of watching gideon have taught him well, but not well enough to prepare him for this moment. 

he can't tell how long he's sat there, screaming into the radio, begging for any sign of life, but soon the words become incoherent, and rough, and scratchy, and then he can't scream anymore. 

at some point, hotch's fingers become gripped around spencer's free wrist, and reid is made acutely aware of the bruise developing on his thigh. one of the many things he and his mentor shared. 

gideon is still stood there. stiff. hands tensed into fists, nails digging into tender skin. spencer had noticed the deep indents the first time he'd met the man, and they'd only gotten deeper over the years. 

the younger agent is present now, but the older is long gone. spencer suspects he checked out a while ago. 

he sinks onto the floor. out of his seat, the wheels rolling it away from his body and crashing into a nearby wall. and while the rest of his body feels limp, weak, powerless, his grip on the radio remains. his knuckles are white, the bone pressing up against thin muscle and skin. as if they're attempting to distance themself from the receiver, or perhaps the words it transmits.

"ssa morgan down. i can't find his pulse. you shouldn't have trusted me, agent gideon."

gideon isn't listening anymore, but spencer is. he tells himself he'll never trust again. 

the side of his head hurts. a growing ache, which he realises he's causing himself. it's a familiar pain, one he has become closely acquainted with over the years. 

it eases as he registers hotch's presence next to him, an arm wrapping around the younger agent. palm placed gently stroking his hair, acting as a barrier between spencer's head and the drawers of the desk. 

he has stopped screaming. 

he has started crying. 

no tears fall from his eyes like they would in a movie, no pretty face as he grieves. 

this is ugly. this is powerful sobs wracking his entire body, so bad his ribcage hurts as his lungs hopelessly expand against it to accommodate the boys deep, desperate breaths. this is hitting his unit chief's chest weakly with whatever strength he has left, silently questioning why he even exists at all if existence insists on being this painful. this is raw, disgusting, human suffering, of a boy who knows his soulmate has been ripped from him, and is now left cold and alone, the universe laughing at him as he weeps.

he wishes this was a movie.

maybe then he would hurt less.

maybe then the one man he ever truly loved would still make it out alive. 

but spencer's not stupid, and he knows the stages of grief, and he knows that denial is up first. he figures he can skip over it. 

all he ever wanted was his happy ending. like the stories his mother used to read him before he drifted off to sleep.

this time, when the exhaustion envelops all his senses, and he feels himself melting into a welcoming embrace, he hopes to meet his love again.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm,,,, so sorry for this.  
> thank you for reading this!!  
> please leave kudos and comments i'm so lonely


End file.
